Also the sun was beginning to
get strength, and warm our chilled bones, for we had been wet through
for five hours or more.
"Why," said Leo, with a gasp as he put down the brandy bottle, "there
is the head the writing talks of, the 'rock carven like the head of an
Ethiopian.'"
"Yes," I said, "there it is."
"Well, then," he answered, "the whole thing is true."
"I don't see at all that that follows," I answered. "We knew this head
was here: your father saw it. Very likely it is not the same head that
the writing talks of; or if it is, it proves nothing."
Leo smiled at me in a superior way. "You are an unbelieving Jew, Uncle
Horace," he said. "Those who live will see."
"Exactly so," I answered, "and now perhaps you will observe that we are
drifting across a sandbank into the mouth of the river. Get hold of your
oar, Job, and we will row in and see if we can find a place to land."
The river mouth which we were entering did not appear to be a very wide
one, though as yet the long banks of steaming mist that clung about
its shores had not lifted sufficiently to enable us to see its exact
measure.
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